


Russian Roulette

by TrainRush



Category: A Hat in Time (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Guns, Nihilistic Conductor, Russian Roulette, Suicide Attempt, Threats, conductor being a reckless bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrainRush/pseuds/TrainRush
Summary: “Hey.”Grooves returned his gaze to the Conductor, who was staring up at him from his position on the floor with a sly, cocky grin. Holding the silver revolver in his hand, he gave the cylinder a spin before holding it out to him.“Russian roulette. Wanna play?”—(or, alternatively, the Conductor gets a littletoocareless with his own life.)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> i had to look up the anatomy of a revolver for this so now you do too
> 
> anygays welcome to my most recent nihilistic conductor fic since... what, gone? how long ago was that? *checks* almost four months? it’s been too long, my friends.
> 
> here’s some reckless conductor for the soul. enjoy :)

It was a little past noon on a cool, Spring day when a small band of Express Owls stopped DJ Grooves in the hallway.

It had, thus far, been an average Wednesday in Dead Bird Studio: a long day filled with filming, stacks of paperwork, and hassling with props. The studio acted almost like a machine on weekdays, with each moving part serving a unique and equally important function. Everything had to be perfectly in place or else something would break. And certainly, Grooves thought to himself, these Express Owls were not where they were supposed to be. His side of the studio and the Conductor’s rarely mingled, so this was quite the rare occurrence.

Something was up.

When he asked them what had happened, the bravest member nervously told him that the Conductor had gone missing almost an hour ago, having yet to have delivered them their scripts.

This was… odd. DJ Grooves had never even _heard_ of the Conductor forgetting to deliver scripts; in fact, the bird had always been very adamant about delivering them _early_ to give his actors a head start on learning their lines. Him forgetting them entirely seemed almost outlandish, yet the owls seemed quite genuine. On top of it all, the bird was missing, too. _Conductor?_ Missing from his set? From his beloved director’s chair, where he always sat?

Feeling a patch of sickly nervousness growing in his heart, he organized a small body of Moon Penguins to search for the owl; not too many that the Conductor would yell at him for overreacting, yet not too small that they wouldn’t eventually find him. Assuring the owls that they would find their director and bring him back to set safe and sound, they set off for the basement.

It was easy to see how the Express Owls couldn’t find him. The basement was like a labyrinth, the walls telling the way to only those who knew them the best. Anyone without proper guidance would lose their way in mere minutes. But the Conductor wasn’t among them. Just like Grooves, he had lived in the basement for nearly his entire career. He should have been able to find his way back to the elevator as though the map were on the back of his hand… right? Unless he was drunk, but he hardly ever drank during the day. Never this early, at least.

As Grooves worked his way through the complex halls of Dead Bird Studio’s basement, he began to find himself worrying a bit _too_ much. What if he had gotten caught in the machinery? What if he had fallen from a high place? What if he was stuck somewhere and couldn’t get out? Couldn’t call for help? No matter how much he assured himself that one of his penguins would buzz his radio any minute now, he couldn’t help but be pestered by his thoughts.

Surprisingly, though, it was none other than DJ Grooves himself who found the Conductor first.

Behind several stacks of crates, on one of the lowest levels of the basement, a door was slightly ajar. Inside, a light appeared to be on, and DJ Grooves could hear the faint clatter of metal accompanied by quiet mumbling. It sounded as if someone was rummaging through boxes, looking for something. Cautiously, Grooves approached, listening carefully as he strained his ears to hear what was being said. For a moment as he advanced, the voice seemed to pause for a moment. Grooves did as well, slowing his steps. Then—

_“...agh, peck.”_

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That was Conductor, alright.

Quietly, DJ Grooves backtracked a bit, whispering into his microphone that he had found the Conductor and that he was going to confront him alone. While a few Moon Penguins seemed concerned about this, he assured them he would be fine. He didn’t need bodyguards to _talk_ to his rival. What could the Conductor do to him, anyway? It wasn’t like he’d try and _kill_ him.

With a bit of newfound confidence, DJ Grooves made his way towards the door again, this time gently cracking it open and peeking inside.

The room was small but shockingly well kept. The walls were free of rust and water damage, and the ceiling tiles were… less yellow than most. In fact, the only bad thing about the room may have been its strong collection of dust; even the ceiling light looked to be in good shape. The room appeared as though it had been hardly used at all since the studio’s opening. Pushed against the far wall was a cluttered row of crates, all of which were apparently the Conductor’s props.

And then there was the odd. The Conductor appeared to have pulled the props from their crates and sorted them: one pile was dedicated to knives, laid out neatly in perfect, gleaming rows; one was dedicated to ropes, which were just as neatly coiled; bottles; bombs; guns; and just about any other thing he could name. If it was usable in a western movie, it was there.

This must have been his secret stash.

The Conductor sat on the ground in the center of it all, presently fiddling with a small revolver. In front of him laid its case, complete with all twelve bullets. He watched as the owl picked one up and put it in the gun, studying it as he did so.

Grooves was suddenly struck with a thought.

_...Those props aren’t_ real, _right?_

He shook himself out of it, remembering why he was there in the first place, and walked through the door.

Immediately, the Conductor’s head shot up, broken out of his concentration. Suddenly, Grooves found a gun being aimed directly at him, with his rival’s finger on the trigger.

“Ah, ah ah!” the Conductor yelped. “Back up, peck neck.”

Meanwhile, DJ Grooves was frozen in place, his gaze fixated on the revolver poised to shoot him directly through the chest. His heart pounded, too shocked to listen to what the Conductor had said. The thought crossed his mind again: that wasn’t a _real gun,_ right?

_“Move it!”_

Jolted back to reality, DJ Grooves stumbled backwards, raising his hands. Breathlessly, he asked, “...that thing isn’t _real,_ is it?”

The Conductor frowned for a moment before laughing. He lowered the gun, grinning up at Grooves. “You can bet yer best buck she is!” He brought it closer to himself to study it. “Pretty, ain’t she?”

It was real.

The Conductor had just pointed a _real-ass, goddamn gun_ at him.

DJ Grooves was, quite frankly, a bit terrified.

“Pretty _dangerous,”_ he muttered. DJ Grooves glanced around nervously at the other props in the room. There was now another question he needed answered: “Are _all_ these props… real?”

“Yep!” Conductor chimed. He didn’t take his gaze from the gun in his talons. “I like to keep ‘em handy down here in case I need some _real_ intense action.”

“And they’re just… here? Where anyone can find them?”

The owl across from him snorted. “Anyone? Don’t be ridiculous, Grooves — you think just _anyone_ is gonna find this lil’ place?” He paused. “Except maybe you, I guess.”

DJ Grooves supposed he was right; the room was definitely well hidden among all the tall piles of crates and trashed props. Yet it still felt too open, especially for a room packed with explosives and the like. He found it difficult to imagine what could happen to the studio if someone found this stash. _Hopefully Conductor keeps this place locked._

Silence settled between the two directors, and Grooves slowly relaxed as he no longer had a revolver aimed to kill him. He instead took marvel in the array of props Conductor stored in the small room, some that he could hardly even imagine buying for himself. He eyed the knives in particular, admiring a select few for their decorative qualities. Some were intricately carved and sculpted, while others were encrusted with wondrous jewels.

Above all, he had no idea how in the world Conductor could use _any_ of them for his movies. They were so fancy, Grooves could only imagine them in a display case, not in some rehashed western movie. Maybe the director could make them work if he tried (he’d accomplished great feats in the past, so working a fancy knife or two into his movies couldn’t be too hard a task), but it simply didn’t make sense to him. Maybe Conductor was planning to use them for something else entirely. _But what?_

“Hey.”

Grooves returned his gaze to the Conductor, who was staring up at him from his position on the floor with a sly, cocky grin. Holding the silver revolver in his hand, he gave the cylinder a spin before holding it out to him.

“Russian roulette. Wanna play?”

For a moment, Grooves paused, staring on in shock. He gaped. “...What?”

Conductor shrugged with an air of carelessness and motioned with the gun again.

It took a moment for the nature of the scenario to sink in. He’d just been presented with a real gun. With an actual bullet in it. And he’d been asked if he wanted to play Russian roulette.

Grooves sputtered. “Absolutely _not._ Who do you take me for?”

The Conductor chuckled bitterly. “Ah, yer no fun.”

“I’m not—”

In the blink of an eye, the owl had put the muzzle of the gun to his own head. That same, smug grin remained painted on his face as he continued staring up at Grooves. He hummed a sigh almost contentedly as he put a finger on the trigger. “Wanna count me down?”

“Darling…” he spoke, slowly and nervously, as he took a step back, “...what are you doing?”

The Conductor cocked his head to one side. “Playing Russian roulette, of course.” He smirked. “I’m no coward.”

“You’d better _pecking_ not,” Grooves hissed, feeling the tension build between them.

“Oh, c’mon, lad. Calm down. It’s only a one in six chance I’ll die!” He was almost _smiling_ now, an edge of excitement to his voice mingling with his carelessness.

He was really serious about this.

DJ Grooves’s heart beat out of his chest, his thoughts racing faster than he could keep track of. “Give me the gun. _Now.”_

“Nah. You’ve already had yer chance to have a turn.”

_“Conductor—”_

“You really are no fun, huh?” Conductor frowned at DJ Grooves. His eyes — if they were visible — were narrowed, watching him annoyedly. He shrugged. “Eh, peck it, I’ll just count myself down without ye.”

“You are _not!”_ He was almost yelling now.

“3…”

He began to shake. “I swear to god, Conductor—”

“2…” And Conductor smiled.

His voice, though wavering, raised. “Don’t you _pecking—”_

“1.”

_“—DARE!”_

_Click._

Grooves hadn’t noticed it, but he’d buried his face in his hands. His heart felt like it was about to burst. He felt himself shaking uncontrollably, frozen in place. Waiting. For a gunshot. Nervously, he took his face from his hands and peeked at the scene in front of him.

Conductor had lifted the gun from his head, looking at it somewhat disdainfully. He paused for a moment before putting a smile on his face and looking up at DJ Grooves.

“You see? Nothing to be worried about—”

_“Don’t…”_ The word came out as a whisper.

Conductor frowned. “Eh? Speak up.”

“Don’t… you _ever…”_ Grooves’s voice rapidly raised. _“EVER,_ pull some _shit_ like that _EVER again.”_ He was still trembling.

Conductor’s frown deepened. “What part of ‘calm down’ and ‘nothing to worry about’ did you not understand, peck neck? It’s over.”

“Are you kidding me?! _You PECKING—”_

_“Look.”_

From behind his back, the Conductor produced a single, silver bullet. DJ Grooves gaped.

“I took the bullet out before playing. There was never a pecking _risk_ in the first place, alright?! It’s _over!_ I’m alive! Not even like I could’ve died in the first place!”

He threw his gun to the ground, rising up from the floor and stomping over to DJ Grooves. He shoved the bullet into his hands, glaring at him.

“Take yer _pecking bullet._ Feel that? Yeah? It’s not in my head, right? Then _good.”_

And with that, Conductor stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

DJ Grooves stared after him in shock. His heart still racing, his grip tightened around the bullet in his palm. _What the_ actual hell _was that?_ He folded his arms around himself in an attempt to calm down, staring vacantly at the door. A part of him wanted to run after Conductor and berate him about what he’d just put him through, but his shock at the whole ordeal kept his feet rooted to the ground.

After a while, he tore his gaze from the door and turned his attention to the bullet in his hands. Anxiety rose again in his heart as he eyed the small thing. _If Conductor hadn’t taken that precaution, it really_ could _have been in his head._ Not wanting to let that thought sink in, he shook his head and paced over to the revolver’s case to put the bullet back.

DJ Grooves took a deep breath, sighing shakily. He knelt down to the soft velvet case and placed the bullet back in its slot...

…before noticing the one right next to it was vacant.

His heart began to pound again, and Grooves’s attention shifted to the revolver thrown haphazardly at the ground. Anxiously, and praying that his nervous thoughts weren’t correct, he picked up the gun and released the cylinder.

Too bad he was right.

For the missing bullet sat snugly in the cylinder of the gun, only one chamber away from the barrel.


End file.
